Passion - By Lauren Kate Page 0,65
was no way Luce could have prepared for the onslaught of so much emotion: Every fear and doubt that had ever crossed Lys's mind swamped Luce. Every hope and dream. It was too much.
She gasped and looked around her at the ball--anywhere but at the duke. And realized she knew everything there was to know about this time and place. She suddenly understood why the king was looking for a wife even though he was already engaged. She recognized half the faces moving around her in the ballroom, knew their stories, and knew which ones envied her. She knew how to stand in the corseted gown so that she could breathe comfortably. And she knew, judging from the skilled eye she cast on the dancers, that Lys had been trained in the art of ballroom dancing from childhood.
It was an eerie feeling, being in Lys's body, as if Luce were both the ghost and the one haunted.
The orchestra came to the end of the song, and a man near the door stepped forward to read from a scroll. Princess Lys of Savoy.
Luce raised her head with more elegance and confidence than she'd expected, and accepted the hand of the young man in the pale-green waistcoat who had appeared to escort her into the king's receiving room.
Once inside the entirely pastel-blue room, Luce tried not to stare at the king. His towering gray wig looked silly poised over his small, drawn face. His pale-blue eyes leered at the line of duchesses and princesses--all beautiful, all dressed exquisitely--the way a man deprived of food might leer at a pig on a spit.
The pimply figure on the throne was little more than a child.
Louis XV had assumed the crown when he was only five years old. In compliance with his dying father's wishes, he'd been betrothed to the Spanish princess, the infanta. But she was still barely a toddler. It was a match made in Hell. The young king, who was frail and sickly, wasn't expected to live long enough to produce an heir with the Spanish princess, who herself might also die before reaching childbearing age. So the king had to find a consort to produce an heir. Which explained this extravagant party, and the ladies lined up on display. Luce fidgeted with the lace on her gown, feeling ridiculous. The other girls all looked so patient. Maybe they truly wanted to marry the acne-ridden twelve-year-old King Louis, though Luce didn't see how that was possible. They were all so elegant and beautiful. From the Russian princess, Elizabeth, whose sapphire-velvet gown had a collar trimmed in rabbit's fur, to Maria, the princess from Poland, whose tiny button nose and full red mouth made her dizzyingly alluring, they all gazed at the boy king with wide, hopeful eyes.
But he was staring straight at Luce. With a satisfied smirk that made her stomach turn.
That one. He pointed at her lazily. Let me see her up close.
The duke appeared at Luce's side, gently shoving her shoulders forward with his long, icy fingers. Present yourself, Princess, he said quietly. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
The Luce part of her groaned inwardly, but on the outside, Lys was in charge, and she practically floated forward to greet the king. She curtseyed with a perfectly proper bow of her head, extending her hand for his kiss. It was what her family expected of her.
Will you get fat? the king blurted out at Luce, eyeing her corset-squeezed waist. I like the way she looks now, he said to the duke. But I don't want her to get fat.
Had she been in her own body, Luce might have told the king exactly what she thought of his unappealing physique. But Lys had perfect composure, and Luce felt herself reply, I should hope to always please the king, with my looks and with my temperament.
Yes, of course, the duke purred, walking a tight circle around Luce. I'm sure His Majesty could keep the princess on the diet of his choice.
What about hunting? the king asked.
Your Majesty, the duke began to say, that isn't befitting a queen. You have plenty of other hunting companions. I, for one--
My father is an excellent hunter, Luce said. Her brain was whirling, working toward something-- anything--that might help her escape this scene.
Should I bed down with your father, then? the king sneered.
Knowing Your Majesty likes guns, Luce said, straining to keep her tone polite, I have brought you a gift--my father's most prized hunting rifle. He'd asked